


First Blood

by orphan_account



Category: Baccano!
Genre: Gen, Murder, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, unsafe binding//
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-04-10 18:22:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4402415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Claire Stanfield's adopted brothers go missing, he thinks it's a prank at first. But after confronting a childhood bully, he finds out the truth. </p><p>Featuring trans man!claire</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Blood

**Author's Note:**

> I know that binding with bandages is unsafe - but I don't think they had binders in the 1920s so bandages it is. PLEASE Do not bind with bandages however, it is extremely unsafe. This coming from a trans boy. !!!DO NOT BIND WITH BANDAGES!!! Also TWs for blood, murder, and some transphobia.

           Claire hated summer. It was horrible enough in the north - New York City, Chicago, it was all the same. He couldn't imagine how bad it would be if he were to travel to somewhere where it was _actually_ warm - Brazil or Africa or Mexico. No, he couldn't imagine. Summers in cities made it hard to breathe, all the smoke and smog and dust and exhaust and pollution, made even worse by the bandages wrapped tightly around his chest. Summers in the circus had been just as suffocating, the smell of animal excrement and sweat permeating the air like gas. Although at least then had the thrill of flying through the air with maybe five seconds of wind in his face to look forward to.

            His days as the flying trapeze-man and legendary tightrope walker were gone now, and he had found himself back home with his family, in the same small room he had occupied as a kid. It was almost as if nothing had changed, but the evidence of time passing was there. The black and white photographs of him and his brothers as children had become bleached near-white from sun exposure, dust bunnies clung to the corners of the room where a broom just couldn't reach, and the lamp on the bedside table was brown - not white as it had been several years ago. Despite his hoping at the time of his return that his bed would be too small, it still fit him almost just as well as it had when was sixteen. Height was not on his side, as it would seem.

            Lying on his bed, shirtless, he felt the most masculine he had ever felt this exposed. His time in his circus had developed his muscles, broadened his shoulders, and his time around adults of all sorts, including the most masculine of men, had only strengthened his copycat-like ability to pick up on other's mannerisms and adapt them to suit himself. He had come home with an almost unrecognizable voice - not that the voice itself had changed - but Claire was constantly pushing himself. And after all, if Claire wasn't able to deepen his voice with practice - then who? Reaching up to wipe the sheen of sweat that had gathered on his upper lip, then briefly wondered why the brothers were being so quiet. Even though they were grown men, they were brothers and couldn't normally go a day without fighting. Not unless…

 

…they were plotting something together. Forgetting the fact he was only wearing a pair of underwear, Claire dashed out of the room and down the hallway to the main part of the house. It was still just as silent, not even the barest creak of a floorboard to let Claire know there was someone (probably Berga) standing nearby. Running into the kitchen, then checking all the bathrooms, he found nothing, which either meant they had left the house on important business without time to tell the fourth brother they were leaving, or they were playing a prank. The pranks played amongst the young Gandors and Stanfield weren't ordinary pranks played by children - so Claire could only imagine what they were up to now. As children, he or Luck were often the butt of the joke, being the smallest and youngest and more gullible. No one had ever gotten seriously injured, thank God, although there was one time Luck needed crutches after tripping down the stairs as a result of a bad scare from Keith. Running down those same stairs now and out the door, Claire looked wildly around for a sign of his siblings, or anyone who might have seen them. Spotting a large brown-haired man across the street, Claire sped over, ignoring the man's disgusted and horrified expression and petulant gaze down Claire's body, which, despite being outside only a few seconds, was already starting to bead with sweat. He didn't have time to kick the man's ass for looking at him funny at the moment though, he had his siblings to find.

            Within a close proximity, the other man's features began to familiarize in the redhead's brain. A face from his childhood memories, and not pleasant ones at that. He had often picked on Firo and Claire for their size as kids, and teased Berga and Keith for keeping the smaller boys around. The man had often been a punching bag of the Gandors and Claire as well, although it was never unprovoked.

            The disgusted face was now only a few feet away from Claire, his gaze locked on Claire's chest. Remembering that he was still shirtless, Claire fought off the instinct to cover his chest. He was Claire Stanfield, why should he care if people saw him like this? He was better than them, anyway.

            The man - Reed? Claire was pretty sure his name was Reed - spoke. "I always knew there was somethin' fishy about you, Red." For Christ's Sake, Claire was making an effort to remember Reed's name, couldn't the asshole even do the same? "So you're a girl, with a nice body at that mind ya. Dunno what you're doing out here half dressed, I could get my people to arrest you for that." What people? Claire thought. Last he remembered, Reed was a street rat, wandering from gang to gang, but he could never stay in one long because his rudeness always got him kicked out.

            Ignoring the filth spilling out of the bigger man's mouth, Claire asked "Have you seen my brothers?"

            Reed laughed. "They aint'cha brothers, and even if they were I haven't seen 'em." It was then Claire noticed the odor, as Reed reached a filthy arm towards him. The bitter scent of alcohol clung to him, as well as the odor of someone who hasn't bathed in a very, very long time. Claire held his ground, brushing away the arm reaching for him.

            "I asked you a question." The redhead stated, glaring coldly.

            "And I answered it." The hand was back in hide face, stretching toward Claire's hair, and he slapped it away again, with more force this time. Reed growled, and quicker than Claire would have thought possible for a drunkard, reached into his coat and pulling out a knife. However fast the drunk man was though, sober or intoxicated, Claire was faster. Faster than anyone he knew. A swift kick to Reed's hand, hard enough to break bone, sent the knife flying, only to be caught by the redhead. Another kick, to Reed's stomach, sent the drunk to his knees, and a elbow to the back pushed him to his stomach. The anger Claire was feeling, at being called a woman, at being treated like an object, at having his body looked upon so perversely, boiled inside of him.

            "You're lying," Claire said calmly, completely opposite of his internal rage. "Did you do something to them? Did you do something to my brothers?" As the struggling man tried to stand, Claire pulled him up by his collar, holding the knife to his throat. The redhead was sweating even more know, from the heat, his anger, and… excitement?

            "Look," Reed whispered softly, the knife digging into his throat as his Adam's Apple bobbed in fear. "We're friends, you wouldn't hurt your friend, right?"  Claire's eyes zeroed in on the beads of blood forming on Reed's neck. It was so red, a crimson color so beautiful it could only be formed when oxygen touched the air. This man, this horrible, horrible man, had terrorized his brothers and friends throughout childhood, yet kept coming back every time he was knocked down. Was he stupid? He should know better than to mess with the Gandors, to mess with _Claire._ Berga, Keith, Luck - what had they ever done to this man except give him what he deserved? And this - bleeding, shaking in pure terror, knife at his throat, _this_ is what he deserved, for whatever he had done to Claire's brothers, for how he had spoken to Claire.

            "We're not friends. Why would I be friends with the likes of you? This world, this world that was made for me, why did it spawn someone like you?" Claire waited a moment, bringing the knife back and then swiftly upwards, cutting into the meaty flesh of Reed's cheek. It was alarming how easy this was, the grace that had come from his time in the circus serving an entirely different purpose. The blood dripped down Reed's cheek, falling onto Claire's hand. It was warm, heavy. "You were lying. Tell me what you did with my brothers," his tone was still even, slightly louder, as he dug the knife into Reed's jaw and jerked it, ripping the flesh off of his face. Claire's eyes we're bright as the large man writhed and screamed in pain.

            "T-they're in the b-basement of t-the b-building behind us. Knocked out." Tears were forming in his eyes now, dripping down the mix with the blood on his face and water it down. Thoughts raced through Claire's head, forming into words before he could even stop them.

            "First you tried to defile me, you called me a woman. You stared at me as though I was a woman - no an object on display for you. That is not the case. I am a man, more of a man than you will ever be. Gender doesn't matter, this world was made for me and I am in it because I am supposed to be. If I say I am someone, or something, or anything, it is the ultimate truth, do you understand? And the people around me, my family, if you hurt them you are hurting me, do you understand? And to hurt me, is to hurt the universe itself. I don't know if you are real, or if anyone is real at all, but your blood is on my hands because you acted against me. And it will continue to stain my hands, for the rest of my life. Even when I die, it will stain my hands, it will stain my hands forever. Just… like… this…" A stab in the chest, perfectly placed to rupture a lung, a slash at the stomach, a slit throat that cut off the man's strangled and terrified crimes. Blood splattered all over Claire, his chest, his face, his arms, his legs, his hands. But still, he kept slashing at every bare surface he could find, until Reed was an unrecognizable mess of blood and flesh. Dropping the body on the ground, he kicked down the door to the building and rushed downstairs to the basement. Luck was the first one awake, and when he saw Claire, he opened his mouth, closed it again, and began to laugh.

            Claire supposed summer might not be that bad, after all, blood took longer to dry in the heat.


End file.
